Tim Flach photographs

 

 

Tim Flach, see more at www.timflach.com

Tim Flach is a photographer whose work is somehow both epic and intimate at the same time. And they are beautifully, perfectly composed. Don't spend time thinking too much....just look.

Tim Flach

Carolina Dreaming

You and Me, Carolyn Jacobs, c.2005, oil, wax and sand on paper

Last night I dreamed I was inside one of my paintings. Underground, forced to scoot around because it was so cramped  I couldn't even crawl.  It looks very different though, because now I realize I've always painted the scene from the outside, looking in.  A small shaft of light illuminated the space, which was populated with amazingly large creepy crawly creatures. I was searching for something terribly important, and I knew what it was during the dream, but now that I'm awake, I've lost it.  I searched for a long time though.

I love and hate such a vivid experience------

Hey! My eyes are up here!!

I often say how much I love my job. I'm never bored and often opportunities to do really interesting things just drop in my lap---murals, collaborations with the symphony, meeting interesting people...many days bring something new and unexpected.

When someone wants to donate art to the institution, I sometimes go out and photograph it and get a sense of whether or not it's something suitable for the permanent collection. That's what I did today. I trekked waaaay out of town to a lovely, exclusive home in a gated community to see some work. Now, I had TONS of grading to do back at the office. Tons. So I probably wasn't in my most accommodating frame of mind.

A mature man opened the door and quickly showed me a series of nice, but 1970's dated looking works. Probably not something we'd invest in, but they certainly weren't awful. I turned my attention from the images and asked "Did you purchase these yourself? Why are you getting rid of them?"

"My tastes have changed" he told my breasts.

I turned my head, and looked around his home, which was tastefully and expensively furnished and zeroed in on the paintings on the walls.  I could barely contain the shriek of horror I could feel gathering in the core of my being as I recognized.....Thomas Kincaide.

"What's the department like where you teach?" he asked my cleavage.

"Which campus are you based?" he inquired of my nipples.

"How many students go there?" he mentally undressed my chest.

It took several more minutes before he gathered the information I needed about the work....during which time I was mocked by Kincaide images of sickeningly sweet cottages and brooks and flowers that do not die, and manufactured light that drills through my eye with shrieking "eek, eek, eek" that sounds like the stabs in the shower scene of Psycho in my head.

It was one of those times in my life when my exit felt more like an escape.